Stop your bitching and do what me and Mrs. Aldrich do – EAT DOG FOOD. And not that premium Alpo crap – I’m talking Chappie Original Dog Food Meal!

Me and the Mrs. have been through tougher times than this. A 39 cent can of dog food is a goddamned feast compared to what we used to eat.

Every time I see Those Damn Kids out on my lawn eating ice cream like it’s VJ Day, I just want to take the flag off my porch, impale them and carry them back to the depression where after we ran out of dirt to eat, we were forced to eat the termites that were eating our house.

On this date, in 1944, I was ordered to go to Spain after five months of heavy fighting in eastern France.

I counted 35 kills in my personal quest to get to the Rhine but my fuck-ass superior officer thought I was ‘over-zealous’ in my hatred for strangers and told me to take a break from killing.

My superior officer was a pussy – but I won’t smear his name here – he was, after all, a decorated hero in the war to end all wars (WWI) and a valuable member of the super-duper war to end all wars (WWIl).

I think Captain Ralph “Ol’ Pussy” Jackson (oops) would have been ashamed of himself if he actually thought the allies would win.

But I think he always thought the Nazis would win, so he hedged his bets.

We can only hope Ol’ Pussy Jackson is burning in Hell now for being weak.

Though I don’t think Satan would have much to do with him.

What does Satan need with pussy ass weak field commanders?

Anyway, I was ordered to go to Spain. Southern Spain.

The only thing I knew about southern Spain was nothing. I knew they ate goat brains and pig feet but that was it.

I wasn’t expecting to see “La Trucha”(The Trout). La Truca was a flamenco dancer. And she was the love of my life. And I don’t give a shit if Mrs. Aldrich reads this!

I never knew a dance could seduce me so. Once you are in “La Trucha’s” grip you pretty much have to kill her to get out.

I spent five glorious days with “the trout” and then I had to leave and kill more Nazis.

Ol’ Pussy Jackson came to his senses and realized that the Nazis had to be killed. La Trucha tried keep me with her by threatening my life with her high-heel nail-studded Flamenco shoes. But I got away… yep… and I’m not saying what happened to La Trucha on that July night in 1944.

Fuck La Trucha! She might have been a double agent for all I knew. Fuck that bitch! As long as Nazis are alive, I must kill them.

I would have killed La Trucha – the love of my life – if she were a Nazi. I would kill my mother if she were a Nazi.

ALL NAZIS MUST DIE! Don’t try to win me over with your flamenco crap. It won’t work!

SCREW YOU, LA TRUCHA! No fish will defeat democracy!

I realize this has nothing to do with THOSE DAMN KIDS, but sometimes you have to kill others in order to kill yourself.

There are now more Goddamned documentary filmmakers in the VFW bar area than actual veterans.

Asshole punk filmmakers with their zippo cameras who just learned there was a World War 2 and think that would “make a great movie”!; dickwad sucking hose farts that think they can stop The War In Afghanistan with a movie at meaningless film festival; scum sucking pricks who think they can find the MIAs in Vietnam.

They all come to the VFW to talk with us experts – US WHO KNOW WHAT A FUCKING WAR IS! I tell them war is eating a man in Korea. You’d think we’d be the ones making the movies!

Pete the bartender was “in the shit” in Vietnam as he likes to call it. He sits there all day like an idiot talking to this rotating circus of filmmakers from the college – all trying to get into his head and find out what it was really like in combat.

VIETNAM VETS DON’T KNOW ABOUT COMBAT! It was all whorehouses and monkey brains for those guys.

[Editor’s note: Manka Bros. & Octogenarian strongly feel that Vietnam veterans served their country as heroically as any of our veterans of foreign wars.]

That’s why they didn’t get a Goddamned parade. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Charlie sitting the corner playing on the pinball machine if that damn Pete had his way. But he took one in the jaw, so I’ll have to give him that. The man looks like an animal and he’s only 57.

I can only take an hour a day in that miserable place. I need some place to go to get away from THOSE DAMN KIDS!

Last night, Snotty Scotty turned the hose on Mrs. Aldrich in freezing temperatures. She claims he was just helping put out the fire in our BBQ that I lit to stay warm during my afternoon outdoor sit. She’s full of shit (not literally, she hasn’t had a decent movement in years) and I hate her for protecting that little prick!

It’s bad enough she has go to the doctor three times a week and take a bag full of pills each day just to have the strength to watch television, but THOSE DAMN KIDS keep tormenting her with footballs in our shrubs and bicycles that crush her precious rose bushes.

There’s only so much old people can stomach before we take the law into our own hands! If it means I have to shoot and torture some of THOSE DAMN KIDS, I just might have to do it.

I’m an old man. I’ve lived a long time and I know when all this hooliganism started. It was the day marijuana came into this country. Brought over by the dope smoking Chinese after Chiang Kai-shek lost the war to the Communists. Ever since then THOSE DAMN KIDS have been HIGH ON POT.

Confucius was wrong when he said, ‘He who stands on the toilet gets high on pot.’ I say, he who smokes reefer gets high on pot – and gets so high on pot that they treat old people like a fist full of maggots.

Well, listen up, sonny boys and sonny girls, THERE’S GOING TO BE A REVOLUTION and it’s going to be started by the OCTOGENARIANS of this country! If it means a lot of blood is spilled, then so be it.

But by God, we’re going to take this country back!

Historians will analyze the revolution and write, ‘I think we could have stopped all the carnage and loss of life if THOSE DAMN KIDS would have stayed off my fucking lawn!”

Once you hit old age, doctors must replace some of your parts to keep you alive and shut down other parts that you don’t need all together.

Having a colostomy bag is not fun and if I had the choice over, I would have preferred to die of cancer. It is the equivalent of taking a dump in your pocket several times a day and then cleaning out the pocket.

But don’t worry… this column is not about taking a dump in my pocket, it’s about THOSE DAMN KIDS!

Summer is coming and summer is the absolute worse time for me and Mrs. Aldrich because of three little words – ICE CREAM MAN! This little pussy in his white “uniform” comes through the neighborhood 4 or 5 times a day clanging that little pansy song It’s A Small World After All.

If that hippie bastard would only drive a little faster, he could run over several of those little sugar craving squealing jerk kids every day.

First, I’d like to say, I enjoy a plate of ice milk as much as the next man. Me and the Mrs. go the Sizzleron occasion and I get the soft serve after a nice steak dinner.

But these kids aren’t in the Sizzler (when they are we hightail it straight for Denny’s). They are outside, dangerously close to the heel of my lawn, bouncing up and down like little girlie pogo sticks with their Rocky Roads and Tuttie Fruttie Bomb Pops.

Mrs. Aldrich found two popsicle sticks on my lawn last week. She thought it was “cute” and told me the stupid little joke that was written on the stick: “Where do plants play football?” “The Ivy League.” She was laughing like a hyena – I wanted to ram the sticks up her nose.

I just want to say for the record on this world wide web I type on every week – FUCK MY COLOSTOMY BAG. FUCK IT ALL TO HELL!!

You see, sometimes old people like George Burns are allowed to smoke and function normally until they die peacefully at the age of 100 and others, like me, can’t shit past 80.

We had a bunch of assholes from my family (no pun) over to the house over the weekend to watch Tigers baseball and have a BBQ. It was a goddamned embarrassment and fucking lack of respect!

All day long I had to listen to THOSE DAMN KIDS from the neighborhood that my bitch of a wife invited and also my grandkids and great-grandkids giggle at the fact that Grandpa Lester could only eat Jello and was allowed only one beer (light beer!) the entire day!

I’ll say it again – FUCK MY COLOSTOMY BAG. FUCK IT ALL TO HELL!!

They grilled the burgers right in front of me and made big jokes as they munched on hot dogs and potato chips and all drank till they were drunk! May Satan fuck them all in Hell!

If it weren’t for Mrs. Aldrich’s ‘attention must be paid’ prayer mentioning me to our Lord, I would have felt that I was already dead.

I once ate a man in Korea. I’d prefer not to go into details. The Pentagon told us never to discuss it. I obey my orders from the Pentagon unlike all these pussy generals that parade onto CNN and talk about how we’re not fighting the war right. Shut the fuck up! – with all due respect – sirs!

Anyway, I once ate a man in Korea. The whole man. Like the Indians with the buffalo, I used every piece of that unlucky son of a bitch.

It was a freezing spring day in 1952 when the “incident” occurred. Eighteen inches of snow, frozen roads, sub-zero temperatures. I saw a man’s face shatter like ice when he was shaving with a rusty razor. Brutal. Goddamned brutal. So rather than die of starvation and loneliness – I ate that dead Korean.

All THOSE DAMN KIDS know how to do is fall off their skateboards and throw dog shit onto my lawn.

I’m going to mark the edge of my property with sulfuric acid so the next time Snotty Scotty falls on my grass the skin will fall right off his ass! That’s what that punk deserves and that’s what I want to see!

I’ve heard stories that people from Michigan are cannibals by nature. I’m not sure if that’s true or not.

I haven’t eaten anyone since 1952. Mrs. Aldrich hasn’t eaten anyone since 1986 (that’s a joke). It was closer to 1982 (that’s also a joke). As far as I know, she’s never eaten one person. But she’s from Iowa. And people from Iowa are more interested in chicken.

Days like this make me sad.

THOSE DAMN KIDS giggling like gorillas and rolling down my street on their fat bodies will never know what it’s like to be really hungry. I mean REALLY hungry. So hungry that you’d… well, you know…